


Nail Polish

by mystery_notebook



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic, M/M, uh.... kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 17:00:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7114519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystery_notebook/pseuds/mystery_notebook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another quick story with the junkers. Junkrat gets his nails done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nail Polish

Junkrat realizes that Roadhog is kind of an artist.

 

It's not apparent at first, but the more he thinks about it, the more he sees it. The concise theming, the crafting of his weapons, the perfect arrangement of patches on his vest. It’s crazy how many pig-themed trinkets Mako gets his hands on, tiny accents bolted on here and there in an effort to personalize everything he owns. It’s all he does in his down time, fiddling with bolts and paint and stitching patches into the fabric of his vests. It’s interesting to see him when he gets like that. Almost a little off-putting. It’s just strange to see him quiet, Junkrat guesses... Strange to see him not runnin’ about swinging a hook around.

 

But he supposes that every junker can't be ON all the time-- though he wishes it weren't true, he and Roadhog aren't whirlwinds of terror 24/7. They do sleep, after all. And eat, and read comics. They're still human. _Roadhog_ is human, which honestly freaks still him out a little bit, and lord knows he enjoys his Sundays off.

 

Anyway, he first starts thinking about the whole “artist” thing on one of those Sundays off, while he and Hog are spending some time in a lovely new hover-trailer they've, er, “recovered” from a parking lot out in the west outback somewhere. It’s a great base, aside from some bullet holes, nestled into a crack in an orange-tinted cliff. The thing’s surrounded by land mines-- Junkrat's doing-- and hooked up to a fancy miniature solar generator from the city. It's a real nice setup, albeit a bit small, and today Junkrat is remedying that by trying to slap some old sheet metal into the shape of an extra room up on the roof. It's going pretty well-- It'd be a good place to stick a hammock. He scrambles down into the main trailer for another box of screws, and notices Roadhog doing something by himself, sitting bent over an orange crate on the far side of the room.

 

"Whatcha doin' there, mate?"

 

Roadhog looks over, a bit surprised-- Like his concentration’s been broken. He hesitates for a moment, but holds up a small bottle of black nail polish. His hand is half-painted.

 

Junkrat grins. "Ho ho! Never knew you were such a fashionista! Got quite an eye for color-- black suits ya quite well."

 

Roadhogs snorts. "It’s dark grey, smartass. I don’t need your sarcasm. Just consider it an experiment in the art of intimidation." He dips the brush into the vial again and drags it across his ring finger. It leaves a smooth, matte color. Hog’s right, it looks a little scary. Kind of punk. "...And believe me, Rat, intimidation IS an art."

 

Junkrat snickers, sitting beside him. He can look for screws later; This takes immediate priority. “My apologies, Coco Chanel. You mind if I “experiment” with ya, then?” It almost sounds flirty, but Roadhog is used to that. He puts the cap on the bottle and places it on the floor. “Knock yourself out.”

 

Rat snatches the polish as soon as Roadhog puts it down, yanking the brush out with his prosthetic arm. He puts the brush to his fingernail, a little jittery, and the paint gets all over. It looks like he dipped his finger in ink. Nowhere near as nice as Roadhog's.

 

He holds his hand out and looks at his handiwork, disappointed. “Shit. Fuck Goddamn.”

 

He groans, setting the polish back down near Roadhog. "It's this damn prosthetic, that's it. Stupid omnic-scrap garbage.  Don’t know why I tried. Ain't got half the finesse needed to pull off such complicated brushwork as yerself, I don’t know why I even---"

 

He's interrupted as Roadhog grabs his flesh arm and pulls it towards him. He puts it on the orange crate, gently but firmly, and rubs the wet paint off with the palm of his hand. He takes the polish again and paints the same stroke, but even and smooth like his.

 

"....Aw, Pig, you don't have to."

 

"It's fine," Roadhog replies. "I know what I'm doing."

 

They fall silent as Junkrat leans over the makeshift table, getting his nails painted by his hulking hog of a partner. Once they're all done, he pulls them back to look at them.

 

"Well, hell, look at that. Thanks, mate. Black's not a bad color on me, either."

 

Roadhog grunts again, sitting back to finish his half-painted hand. “ _Dark grey_ , Jamie. We’re not goth kids in middle school.” He pauses, inhaling through his mask like he does occasionally. “Besides,” he says, “Pitch black would be too harsh. Grey plays better with other colors.”

 

Silence for a minute, and then something breaks. Junkrat snickers, and laughs, and then can’t stop laughing. Roadhog considers punching him for a moment, but just smirks under his mask and lets it happen. Junkrat, for some reason, thinks that whatever Roadhog just said is the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

 

He quiets down after Roadhog finishes up his nails, and then leans his head, breathless, against the orange crate. “I’m sorry, mate! I’m sorry! I just never knew you were such a fucking _artist_.”

 

Roadhog shrugs. “Manicures, murder, it’s all art in it’s own way.”

 

Junkrat sits up and nods, voice still giggly. “Well-put, ya gorgeous freak of nature. We got any other colors? Maybe I could put that lil’ smiley face I always draw on my thumb or somethin’.”

  
Roadhog laughs, quick and raspy, and starts rooting around in his box of paints.


End file.
